


the coals went so wild

by dustofwarfare



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel commands Sebastian to help him overcome his incapacitating fear of being restrained, so that he can keep his wits about him when captured by men of dubious intent who plan to do him harm. Sebastian agrees, and promptly gives Ciel what he was <i>really</i> asking for, which is something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the coals went so wild

**Author's Note:**

> In my head this follows manga!canon, but it's set in an indeterminate time period so it really doesn't matter if you're familiar with one or the other. 
> 
> The title is from Neko Case's song "Furnace Room Lullaby", which is so Sebastian/Ciel that it hurts. 
> 
> Also I needed yet another fandom and fucked up OTP like I needed a hole in the head. But alas, I'm a sucker for demons, and I couldn't resist.
> 
> (I should mention my thing about Sebastian referring to himself as "a demonic version of a magpie" when in an "earlier form" is my own headcanon, a complicated thing about demon evolution that is ridiculous and from which I will spare you any further ramblings :| )

****

the coals went so wild 

_I twisted you over and under to take you_  
The coals went so wild as they swallowed the rest  
I twisted you under and under to break you  
I just couldn't breathe with your throne on my chest 

* * *

Sebastian stands in front of a door, torn and bloody pieces of what were once people scattered by his feet. He stares at the candlelight dancing in the obsidian shine of his talons, and tries to decide how much longer he should wait. 

Behind the door, Ciel is being manhandled by his latest underworld threat. Sebastian can feel murderous intent thrumming through whatever dark marrow binds him to his young master, and he will most assuredly put a stop to whatever dire ending the assailant has planned for the Earl of Phantomhive. Even if Ciel stays as silent as the grave from which Sebastian delivered him, Sebastian will see him safe from the oafish brute who yearns to bring down the _Queen’s Guard Dog_ with his bare hands. 

There is something else the man yearns to do to the pretty young Earl; Sebastian can sense that, too. Humans are relatively predictable creatures, and their desire to lord in their victory and bask in the suffering of their prey is commonplace among the worst of them. Sebastian finds their attempts graceless and horribly pedestrian, and this man is no exception. 

_Oh, if I had time, human, I would show you what it means to be a predator,_ thinks Sebastian, a dark wind swirling around him, dry and arid like a desert. _But there are duties that require my attention back at the manor, and I simply haven’t the time to teach you how to properly hunt._

Feathers flutter gently to the floor, and when the darkness re-settles it reveals Sebastian wearing his familiar form; talons sheathed beneath white gloves, wings becoming the starched, crisp folds of his tailcoat. 

Sebastian enters the room quietly, as befits a servant of House Phantomhive; theirs is a quiet house, no place for clamoring noises or stomping about to and fro. Ciel is spread-eagle on a desk, wrists and ankles hurriedly tied with rough-hewn rope. The sight of his proud young master displayed thusly is briefly entertaining, and the _dread_ pouring off of Ciel is heavy enough to make Sebastian’s mouth start to water. 

Nothing breaks Ciel’s composure like being held down while he’s on his back, as it reminds him of the night he was to have died, slaughtered like a little lamb on the sacrificial altar. The oaf who is planning to rape Ciel -- though he is certainly taking his time about it, Sebastian notes dispassionately -- is looming above Ciel with a knife raised aloft. That would explain the lack of Ciel’s usual biting commentary, then. 

The man, Hayward, is in the midst of telling Ciel that he is going to fuck him and then stab him in the stomach and leave him to die alone. The propensity towards exposition when it comes to one’s evil plan is a mystery to Sebastian. Thus far, he has not had sufficient time to make inquires as to why it is such a popular activity amongst the villainous. 

Sebastian bows politely, interrupting Hayward’s rather uninspired tirade. “Do forgive me for interrupting, my lord, but I believe it is time for us to depart.” 

Naturally, Hayward shrieks in outrage and demands to know how Sebastian got past the guards stationed at the door, what he thinks he’s doing and who the hell is he, anyway? 

Sebastian grabs Ciel’s assailant by the neck, feels the fragile bones begin to bow to the pressure of his fingers. He watches with interest as the man kicks and sputters and turns red in the face, eyes bugging out from lack of oxygen. Perhaps he shall attempt some exposition of his own. Demons are nothing if not adaptable. “Me? Why, I am no one at all, Mister Hayward, no one of any importance. I am simply one hell of a --” 

“Sebastian.” 

Attuned as ever to his master’s voice, Sebastian abandons his experiment in exposition and cuts his eyes over at the figure bound and spread on the table. “Yes, my lord?” 

Ciel’s face is a haunting, thrilling mix of that earlier dread and _hate_ , so powerful that Sebastian can see it simmering just below the blue of Ciel’s one visible eye. The scent overwhelms Sebastian, calls to the darkness at his core and wakes up the hunger that never really sleeps, the hunger for Ciel’s soul that keeps Sebastian so deliciously on edge. “I would hear him scream before you kill him.” 

Sebastian smiles, tasting the fear from the thing held dangling and kicking in desperation before him. His tongue pushes against his teeth, impatient, wanting the order he knows Ciel is going to give him. “My lord has only to command me, and I shall do his will with utmost abandon.” 

Ciel doesn’t need to take off the eyepatch, his contract mark is burning so brightly that the violet light of it is seeping out of the edges, spilling like blood on his fair cheeks, like the tears Ciel Phantomhive refuses to cry. 

“This is an order, Sebastian -- tear him _apart_ ,” Ciel breathes, eyes hazy and faraway. When Ciel wants it like this, brutal and bloody, it’s the men who branded him and thrust a knife into his chest that Ciel wants to watch die -- the men Sebastian killed for him the night they took their unholy vows and sealed their contract, in whose blood Sebastian was baptized. 

Not Hayward, who is simply another in a long line of fools to underestimate Ciel Phantomhive. Were it not for the knife and the ropes, Hayward would find his way to the Yard -- as is, Sebastian doubts there will be enough left of him to take anywhere at all. 

Sebastian will kill quietly and quickly, or with brutal theatrics, whichever his young lord commands. It makes not a whit of difference to him, but he cannot deny his slight preference towards the latter. Sebastian has always been rather fond of aestheticism, for one reason or another. 

(The thing that is Sebastian, that wears the skin of a man and answers to a name bestowed upon him by a grieving child, thinks perhaps it is because it started out its long existence as the demonic equivalent of a magpie, but it is not entirely sure.) 

The sharp edges of Sebastian’s teeth scrape against his bottom lip as he smiles. This human mouth never seems quite wide enough, and adjusting it to the correct proportions to suit his dental needs results in odd looks, screaming, and/or incensed priests throwing water on his head and chanting in Latin. Quite a bother. 

Sebastian raises the hand not wrapped around Hayward’s neck to his mouth, slowly pulling at the fabric of the glove, once again sporting the sharp obsidian talon instead of smooth skin. 

_Perhaps I shall have the opportunity to show you how to enjoy the suffering of your prey after all, human._

“No, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian turns with a snarl, the rage of being told _no_ transforming his face into something momentarily monstrous -- but Ciel does not look away, simply gazes right into Sebastian’s hell-lit eyes and says, “Use your hands. Your _human_ hands. Claws are far too merciful, and shall be over far too quickly for my liking.” 

Sebastian drops the glove and flexes his fingers, smiling again in anticipation and malicious enjoyment. His little lord is becoming quite the predator, it would seem. He’s very proud of him, even if the sheer brutality of the order has him nearly salivating at the thought of devouring his young master’s soul. 

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian says, and very soon after, Hayward begins to scream. 

* * *  
The bathwater is finally clear, all of the blood having been gently and scrupulously washed away by Sebastian’s patient hands. Ciel is quiet, hunched over, his dark hair falling to cover those wide, deceptively innocent eyes, his arms wrapped around his knees. 

Sebastian leans forward and inhales deeply of his master’s scent, mixed with the lavender in the bathwater and the faint, lingering traces of blood. It makes his human form grow hard in his trousers, and pulls an inhuman noise from deep within his chest. 

“Do stop that,” Ciel says, sounding as arrogant and demanding as ever. “You’re not eating me, you’re bathing me. If you cannot remember which is which, I shall draw you a diagram.” 

Sebastian, when he first came here with his young master, would respond to such comments by murmuring politely and indulging in a fantasy of himself slowly consuming Ciel’s soul. Now, he simply smoothes his fingers through Ciel’s dark hair and says, “Perhaps I am simply broiling you first, my lord.” 

Ciel turns his head and rests his cheek on his knees. “In bathwater? How disappointing. I thought you were far more skilled in the culinary arts.” 

“You forget,” Sebastian says. “I do not share the same palate as a human, my lord.” 

“Even so, I cannot imagine my soul is all that enticing, doused in bathwater or not. In fact, what shall you do, my demon, if it comes time for you to consume me and you find my soul to be stale, or….overcooked?” 

“Overcooked, my lord? It is a soul, not Bardroy’s attempts to make his lordship’s breakfast.” 

“Sebastian, do stop with the clever witticisms and assure me that my actions have not tainted my soul so that you no longer desire it.” 

Sebastian gently takes Ciel’s chin between his fingers, turning his small, serious face towards his own. “My lord, I grow hungrier for your soul every day,” he says, with perfect honesty. “Every terrible command you utter, every drop of blood I spill for you, every scream I pull forth from a human throat for your pleasure -- ah, my young master, it is the equivalent of adding every spice imaginable to an already delicious dish.” 

“Too many spices can overwhelm the taste of a meal,” Ciel mutters. “The subtleties of flavors will be lost amidst the onslaught.” 

Sebastian, still on his knees, reaches out and lifts Ciel from the bath, then wraps Ciel in the towel, tightly, effectively binding him. “My lord, I assure you that your soul remains as intoxicating to your demon as ever,” he says, pulling Ciel tighter against him. He lets his voice shift, feels his eyes burn with hellfire, rustles the dark things that are his wings behind him in the shadows. “And I am very, very hungry.” 

Ciel is staring at him, eyes wide, breathing too fast and uneven -- and then he sighs, his eyes slide half-closed and Sebastian feels the tension drain from him as he leans in closer, resting his weight fully against his demon’s shoulder. “Good. See that you stay that way.” 

“Until the very end, my lord.” Sebastian picks him up and carries him to bed, where he helps Ciel into a pair of drawers and a nightshirt. 

His fingers are deftly doing up the buttons when Ciel says, “If you are so hungry, Sebastian, why did you not consume the soul of the man I ordered you to kill?” 

Sebastian looks up at Ciel, face perfectly composed. “I prefer not to ruin my appetite with second-rate fare, my lord.” 

Ciel’s mouth twists in something that might be a smile. “You flatter me with your silver tongue, devil.” 

Sebastian bows neatly from the waist. “It is only the truth, my lord. Your soul is a thing of delicacy, to be savored. Hayward’s was a bitter tonic, to be swallowed quickly and forgotten. Or, better yet, left for the Shinigami.” 

Ciel is staring at him, intently, in that way that clearly says _I’m not listening because I have something I’m trying to tell you_. “I disliked having that man on top of me, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian merely arches one dark brow in response. “Young master should summon his devil sooner, so that such affronts are avoided.” 

Ciel waves his hand dismissively. “Which is worse, Sebastian? If I ask the devil to make it so that I do not tremble in fear at the touch of some brute’s hands upon my person, or if I command the devil to flay him alive while I watch, in retribution for daring to touch me in the first place?” 

Sebastian gives him a charming, meaningless smile. “Perhaps my lord should consider doing whichever pleases him, as it makes no difference to his devil.” 

“Then I want both.” 

Sebastian blinks, noticing the flare of the mark in Ciel’s violet eye that signifies an impending order. Soft heat licks at his hand. “And what command shall you give your devil, my lord, so that you do not suffer this fear?” 

Ciel blinks those huge eyes up at him, looking dazed and uncertain and determined, a heady combination that makes Sebastian want to sink his teeth in and _bite_. “To lay his unholy hands on me, and...” Ciel blushes, and looks predictably annoyed by doing so. “Ravish me.” He won’t look at Sebastian, his small hands wound tightly in the duvet upon which he sits. 

“My lord, the goose that provided the down for his lordship’s duvet is no longer in need of strangulation, as its feathers have been well and truly plucked.” Sebastian reaches out and gently entwines his fingers with Ciel’s, loosening the boy’s death grip on the comforter and waiting patiently for Ciel to continue. 

Sebastian has wondered, for several months now, if the nature of their contract would evolve to include activities of an intimate nature. Such contracts generally do (and why wouldn’t they, as Sebastian prides himself on being a fiend of many talents) but this particular contract is anything but normal. “You wish me to put my hands on you, young master, in an intimate fashion?” 

Ciel nods and meets Sebastian’s eyes as he leans forward, his small hands fluttering in uncertainty before alighting, butterfly-soft, on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Yes. I order you, Sebastian, to unleash your devil’s lust upon me. Then I shall not be incapacitated with fear, when a mere human ties me to a desk and brandishes a dirty, dull knife in my face.” Some of Ciel’s haughtiness vanishes amidst a moment of uncertainty, charming for its rarity. “Is that...can you do that, Sebastian?” 

Sebastian reaches out and gently strokes his fingers over Ciel’s cheek, growling in a way that is entirely inhuman, his voice echoing with the sound of dead things, of broken bells shattered and discordant. “Oh yes, my lord. I certainly can.” 

* * * 

“I hardly think this is necessary,” Ciel informs him, eyes wide, voice trembling a bit despite his superior tone, pulling at the ropes restraining his hands and feet. “And why is this room in existence, Sebastian?” he demands, looking around as much as he is able from his position, spread-eagle on a large stone slab. “I have never seen it before.” He gives Sebastian an accusing look, but says nothing further. 

The room exists because Sebastian willed it to do so, which is what he tells Ciel. “I brought it forth for my master, to honor his request.” He indicates their surroundings, the cold stone and dark corners. “Think how utterly boring the idea of being ravished on a desk shall be, my lord, after I have you in this macabre setting.” 

Ciel looks unimpressed by Sebastian’s logic. “I did not command you to reenact my ritual sacrifice at the hands of some delusional cult.” 

“It was hardly delusional,” Sebastian points out, unbuttoning his tailcoat. “Or else the ground upon which we stand would be nothing but dirt soaked in ashes.” 

Ciel looks so highly irritated, Sebastian is hard-pressed not to laugh at him. “I thought my pain and suffering called you, not their ridiculous chanting and those absurd masks.” 

“And so they did,” Sebastian agrees. “But I appreciated the effort of the masks and the chanting, all the same. You know how I am about that, my lord.” 

“You and your aesthetics,” Ciel mutters. “Are you going to get on with it, then? It’s cold. And here I thought a son of Hell would at the very _least_ provide me some semblance of warmth.” 

Sebastian stands next to the figure of his young master, spread out for him in a tempting array of flesh and impertinence and thinly-disguised fear. “My eternal regret at disappointing you, young master, but you shall no doubt find me cold to the touch, rather than hot. It is not fire that spawns us, but darkness. The absence of light does not allow for much warmth.” 

“How terribly romantic,” Ciel drawls, trying to lean up on his elbows. Sebastian, who was rather proud of the poeticness of his response, responds by making the ropes tighter and keeping Ciel from moving as he wishes. “Bloody demon,” Ciel mutters, eyes flashing up at him. 

“You did wish me to unleash my unholy lust, master.” 

“Do you lust after seeing me irritated and cold? I’m disappointed, Sebastian. Clearly I have been misled by mythology and penny dreadful novels into thinking you are going to do all sorts of depraved things to me, rather than tie me up and spout pretty words.” 

“You charm me,” Sebastian says, honestly, as he smiles down at Ciel. “A devil stands at your side, prepared to ravish you, and yet your wit sparkles like a star in the night sky.” 

“And your metaphors chafe like sandpaper on an open wound,” Ciel says, eyes narrowing. “Get on with it, already. And Sebastian, I order you not to stop, no matter what I say, until…” here, Ciel falters and clears his throat, eyes boring into some spot above Sebastian’s left shoulder. “Until you have….”

“Until I have vented my unholy lust, my lord?” 

Ciel nods, once, and closes his eyes. Sebastian takes his time undressing, enjoying the growing unease and tension, and crawls atop of Ciel on the altar. He leans down, inhaling the boy’s scent of fear and bravado, tastes the undercurrent of the soul he so craves beneath it all. He drags his tongue along Ciel’s collarbone, slowly, luxuriating in the permission he’s been given to touch. 

“Hmm. I expected your tongue to be silver-tipped, with the way you go on.” 

Sebastian nips at Ciel’s skin, runs the edges of his too-sharp teeth against Ciel’s frantic pulse. Sebastian hears a distant, growling noise and realizes it must be coming from him. 

“Sebastian,” says Ciel, shifting beneath him. “I believe I requested to be ravished, not dined upon.”

Sebastian kisses his way down Ciel’s chest, nipping playfully, fighting the urge to draw blood and take a taste as he does so. “My lord, when the time comes for me to devour your sweet soul, you shall not mistake it for anything else. Believe me.” 

“Hmph. One hopes you will not spend so much time talking, first. Or constructing elaborate rooms. I expect you to be hungry enough by then not to dawdle, Sebastian.” Ciel’s voice becomes more breathless, the lower Sebastian moves down his body. 

Sebastian nuzzles the fabric of Ciel’s muslin drawers on his inner thigh. “But anticipation is half the fun, my lord. To draw out the final moment is only fitting, when dining on such a delicacy.” 

Sebastian bites, gently, on Ciel’s inner thigh. The boy’s hiss of pain makes him shudder deliciously, mouth moving higher, breathing warm breath against the muslin and feeling the fabric turn damp as he does so. “And may I remind you, my lord has given me leave to ignore his commands,” Sebastian reminds him, teasing at flesh growing hard beneath his ministrations with the tip of his tongue. “Until it is finished.” 

Ciel is staring up at the ceiling. “I meant that I did not wish you to obey any commands of mine to stop, should I utter them in the -- the middle of things, which I shan’t do, anyway, and I do not need to explain myself, Sebastian!”  
“Indeed you do not, my lord. Although, I should point out that one may take the words _ignore my commands until it is finished_ as leave for me to do whatever I like.” Sebastian raises his head and smiles up at Ciel. “Including tearing your flesh from your bones, just to hear you scream.” 

Ciel looks down at him, unimpressed. “All that shall do is make a mess you’ll have to clean up, later. But if that is your desire, devil, then I shall not stop you. I am not afraid of dying.”

 _No, you’re not, are you? It’s living you fear, not dying._ Sebastian licks up the hard length pressing against Ciel’s drawers, pleased as he feels it grow even harder beneath his ministrations. Ciel moves restlessly beneath him, making soft sounds that he likely doesn’t realize he is making.

Sebastian unties the drawstring of Ciel’s muslin drawers with his teeth, because it seems the sort of thing a devil should do. With that last barrier between them now removed, Ciel goes tense, no doubt expecting Sebastian to cover his smaller body with his own and mount him. 

Sebastian bites gently at Ciel’s inner thigh, then presses a soft kiss to the small hurt. _Oh, my angry little lord. Any brute can put a weaker man on his back and force himself upon him, but It takes a demon to make a man spread his legs and beg to be defiled._

There are many things that Ciel does not understand. Sebastian lowers his head and takes Ciel’s cock into his mouth, sucking with firm even pressure, and sets about teaching him. His fingers tease gently, then insistently, at places that make Ciel twist away from him and gasp in shock...and then push forward eagerly, because what kind of demon would he be, Sebastian, if he couldn’t make his master writhe in pleasure beneath him? 

Next time, though, Sebastian is not going to restrain Ciel’s hands. He wants to feel Ciel’s fingers sliding through his hair, wants those short nails scratching hard down his back. 

There will be another time, Sebastian is certain of it. What they are doing in this dark room made of old memories and chilled stone has never been an inevitability, but now that it has come to pass, it only serves to tighten the chains that bind them. Sebastian will take everything his lord chooses to give, and he will hold nothing back when his lord asks it of him. 

_What has been sacrificed can never be regained._

Sebastian shall not deny himself the opportunity to have Ciel writhing beneath him, whether it be in pleasure or pain or both. Devils are gluttonous creatures, after all

Ciel is as silent in his pleasure as he is in pain, and he makes nary a sound when he comes in Sebastian’s mouth. But his heels press into the rough stone of the slab, and his lithe body arches beautifully, neck bared to the devil who is swallowing him down. 

Not swallowing his soul, not yet. But close enough that Sebastian’s hunger intensifies a thousandfold, and as he crawls sinuously up Ciel’s body, the lines of his human form bleed into other, sharper angles. 

Feathers drift around them, a softly falling curtain of black. 

Ciel opens his eyes and regards Sebastian as he hovers there, his form shifting between the butler who obeys his every command and the demon who longs to devour him. “Perhaps your tongue is made of silver after all, devil,” he allows. It is as close to a compliment as Sebastian is likely to receive. 

“Perhaps so,” says Sebastian, and his laugh is a sibilant hiss, breathed out against the tender skin of Ciel’s neck as he laves it with his tongue. Sebastian can taste Ciel’s surge of fear and dark excitement as he settles himself between Ciel’s legs, as Sebastian presses his stiffened arousal against him with obvious intent. 

Ciel stares right into Sebastian’s eyes, draws his knees up and presses them against Sebastian’s lean hips. His cock is already growing hard again, Sebastian can feel it rubbing against his stomach. 

“Ah, young master,” Sebastian says in his demon’s voice, a sound like dead leaves grinding beneath rotting bones. He lowers his head and kisses Ciel, which is dangerous considering how badly he wants Ciel’s soul, how he _aches_ for it, but he does it anyway. 

Ciel kisses him back, though eventually he bites Sebastian’s lip, hard enough to make Sebastian pull away from him. “Behave, demon,” Ciel hisses, to which Sebastian only laughs and bites _Ciel’s_ mouth, though he does impose some self-control and avoids kissing Ciel on the mouth, focusing on that delectable neck instead. 

Sebastian traces the edge of Ciel’s ear with his tongue. “Oh, if you only knew how badly I want to _devour_ you, young master….” His voice is almost reverent. 

“Perhaps you should show me, then,” says Ciel in a dark voice, as if he knows very well he’s teasing a demon pushed to the brink of his self control. “And take me like you want to take my soul.” 

“ _Yes_ , my lord,” breathes Sebastian, touching the side of Ciel’s face with talons of dark obsidian, the hellfire of his eyes caught within their depths. 

Ciel turns his head -- not away from the inhuman touch on his skin, but _towards_ it. When he licks the curved talon with his wicked little tongue, Sebastian is lost, utterly. 

“Don’t stop, Sebastian,” Ciel whispers, over and over like a litany, eyes glittering with lust. “Oh, _don’t stop_....” 

If his lord commanded him to consume his soul in that moment, Sebastian would feed until dawn. 

* * *  
Ciel is quiet as Sebastian draws the covers up over him, runs his fingers -- not talons, not now -- through Ciel’s damp hair. Sebastian twice brought his young lord pleasure before taking his own, buried deep in the heat of Ciel’s body, and he insisted on giving Ciel a proper bath before putting him to bed. 

“I thought you would want to hurt me,” Ciel says, blinking up at Sebastian with hazy, tired eyes. “Why didn’t you?.” 

Sebastian lightly caresses the reddened marks on the side of Ciel’s neck that look suspiciously like teeth. “Because it pleases your devil to feel his master writhe beneath him in pleasure, my lord.” 

“Do stop answering me in the third person like you are Julius Caesar reminiscing on his military campaigns, Sebastian.” 

Despite himself, Sebastian is impressed by Ciel’s recollection of the point of view in which Caesar’s memoires were written. “As you wish. It pleases _me_ to feel _you_ writhe beneath me in pleasure, my lord.” 

“I do not writhe,” Ciel mutters, blushing, sounding as offended as if Sebastian recited an off-color limerick in mixed company, or served cold tea to the queen. “It is unseemly. And while I am sure you enjoyed any...movements I may have made, that cannot be the only reason. You are very complex, for a demon.” 

Sebastian wonders with private amusement how Ciel came to regard demons as simpletons, given his relative inexperience with Sebastian’s brethren. Instead, he answers the question asked of him and says, “because a soul that knows nothing but torment is far too easy to give up, my lord. I want you to know the full breadth of what you are losing when I devour your soul -- pain, yes, but pleasure, too. I find it adds a nice dash of _spice_ to the meal, if you will.” 

It is true enough, if not the _entire_ truth. Enough to satisfy Ciel’s demand that Sebastian never lie to him, at any rate. If Sebastian does not keep some truths to himself, what kind of demon would he be? 

_I do not think you are ready to hear that I knew what you really wanted, young master, and it wasn’t pain._

Ciel reaches up and brushes his fingers over Sebastian’s mouth, lightly, a mere tease of a caress. “You are truly a devil worthy of the Earl of Phantomhive, Sebastian. I would not allow a lesser fiend to consume my soul.” 

Sebastian takes Ciel’s fingers in his own and bows, respectfully, over them. “And I would not wish to consume the soul of a lesser noble, my lord.”

Ciel nods, and turns his face away. Sebastian takes it as a sign he is dismissed, and stands up, moving silently towards the door. 

He is halfway there when Ciel’s voice stops him. “Sebastian?” 

“Yes, young master?” 

“The continued existence of that room is no longer necessary. I believe I would prefer to be ravished in the comfort of my own bed, next time,” Ciel says, and he is not quite gifted enough at forced casualness to pull off that tone with ease. A pause, and then, “That will be all.” 

_Ah, young master, how I yearn to wrap my wings around you and drag you straight to Hell._

Sebastian smiles. “Yes, my lord,” he says, and steps out into the dark. 

* * *


End file.
